The Poetry of Escalations by Armenida Qyqja

(By Inga Zhghenti)

My latest article on contemporary Georgian poetry titled Where Does Georgian Poetry Stand Today? looks at the modern poetic voice of Georgia. I would apply the same question to any poetry of today—in this world of constant changes with dramatically turbulent technological aspirations which still a failure to prioritize and secure peace. 

After reading Golden Armor, the poetry collection by Tirana-born Armenida Qyqja, I would rather generalize my question: “Where does poetry stand today?” The answer would be: “At the crossroads” of physical and spiritual uncertainties and escalations, making up the blood and body of any real poetry. These uncertainties and escalations are inseparable constituents of the book Golden Armor as it captures the most intimate and relatable journeys of searching the idea of “the self,” the unattainability and vulnerability of happiness, the unavoidability of fate, and the determined void and futility of the contemporary world dictated by consumerism, fabricated reality, and promulgated injustice, all juxtaposed with the concerns conditioned by the realization and recognition of life’s absurdity. 

The lyrical hero narrates the stories through emotions where physical and spiritual quests and pains interweave and intermix without borders. The voice speaking up in different poems exposes the feelings of alienation, loneliness, emptiness, and imperceptible and evasive time. The lines of the poems manifest alienation as both psychological and physical exile. 

In the poem “Sons and Daughters of Pragmatism,” the poet calls us “the sons and daughters of pragmatism” who “wink an eye at our own image in the mirror and run along.” The passage sets the scene of individuals escaping from their reflections and perceptions, thus demonstrating quite common detachment from the self of nowadays. 

The poem “They Say” also explores unrecognized alienation and emptiness reflected in the mirror. In the first two lines, the piece delivers a vivid image of existential isolation: “I’ve been hiding from myself for a long time, I hide from that emptiness that can’t be seen in a mirror,” somehow reminiscent of Sartrean nausea. The existential plights are further outlined in the poems “Waiting to Hear Your Voice” and “Somewhere, Near the Heart,” where emotional longing for the loved one’s presence and somewhat Beckettean absurdism are interspersed. 

The poet’s figurative stance finds particular comfort in juxtaposing images. Therefore, love and war are explored side by side, thus stipulating the fortuitousness and illogicality of events. In “Bitter Thoughts,” the concept of love faces the threat of destruction in wartime. On the other hand, the gratitude for not being born in a war-torn land is tinged with survivor’s guilt. The poet exposes the tragedy of war and the fatality of love through the destruction of Gaza and Ukraine. 

Undated Battles also envisions the theme of love and war through the lens of violence. This retrospect might be alluding to T.S. Eliot’s representation of the fragmented nature of human existence in chaotic times. Although the self of the lyrical hero is broken, deconstructed, and fragmented by the challenges of existence, there remains a constant yearning for meaning and redemption in the quest the hero reveals. 

The poems “Come Closer,” “Find Me,” and “When You Shall Arrive” still find it meaningfully worth striving to reconcile with the self. In “Come Closer,” the power of love is seen as a bridging domain in existential voids, thus somehow resonating with Rainer Maria Rilke’s notion of love being challenging but yet a necessary “confrontation” with another soul.  

One more significant focus of the poetry collection by Armenida Qyqja is the struggles of the fragmented and dismantled self in the materialized universe guided by social media and the futility of its content. “Mental Paralysis” communicates criticism about the superficiality of social media, assessing it as an anesthetic silencing of independent reasoning, quite similar to George Orwell’s warnings declared in his novel 1984. 

Spiritual decay and consumerism are condemned in “Mercenaries of Chaos,” in this sense resonating with Jean Baudrillard’s theories on hyperreality, where reality is replaced by fabricated spectacle. The poem diagnoses the modern world by anorexia, both spiritual and modern: 

Spiritual and mental anorexia,

that has no cure, no stimulus,

the most evil chronic condition

is going to wipe out the human race

at a much higher rate

than all viruses created in labs.

But still, there is a belief that

this darkness shall pass,

its curtains won’t be able to restrain the sun forever,

close your eyes and see with the light (For the strong…)

The entire trajectory of the words in the book replays the inner voice of the human, attacked by the destructive nature of existence exposed through wars, hatred, emptiness, absurdity, and the fatality of life. Nevertheless, the author does not kneel to all these challenges stipulated by life’s nature but stands up to overcome them all through longing for the voice of love and survival, as the mythological Greek king Sisyphus stands against fate through his relentless attempts admired throughout the centuries.  

Armenida Qyqja was born in Tirana, Albania in 1977 and immigrated to Canada in 1995. She is the author of eight poetry books and two books of short stories. Her most recent book is Golden Armor, a poetry collection published by Transcendent Zero Press (Texas, USA 2025).

Dr. Inga Zhghenti is a Fulbright Scholar, translator, and literary scholar whose work bridges Georgian and American cultures. She has translated Samuel Beckett, Louise Glück, Emily Dickinson, John Updike, Diane di Prima, and leading Georgian poets, with publications in the international poetry platform Versopolis, Georgia’s leading literary journal Arili, and Upsala Literature Magazine (Sweden). Active as a reviewer, editor, and cultural advocate, she is a Visiting Professor of English at DeVry University, teaching Composition and Advanced Composition, and directs Language Arts at the Georgian-American Cultural Center Dancing Crane in New York. She speaks internationally on literature, translation, and identity, advancing dialogue across languages and cultures through scholarship and creativity.

La Fenetre de Paris announces a submission opportunity for poets. Poetry anthology Water: The Source of Life seeks submissions

Contributor Taylor Dibbert seeks reviewers for his new poetry book On the Rocks. Please email us at synchchaos@gmail.com if you’re interested.

Also, we will stop accepting submissions for November’s first issue on October 25th. You may still submit after that date, but your work will go into our second issue for the month.

Now, for this month’s second issue, Learning From History.

Sayani Mukherjee muses on the rise and fall of the Roman Empire.

Kelly Moyer’s film, created together with Hunter Sauvage and starring Robert P. Moyer and Annie, draws on ancient myth to understand the United States’ modern political situation. Abigail George analyzes the strengths and weaknesses of certain leadership styles illustrated by Donald Trump and several African leaders. Patricia Doyne speaks to the hubris of American political leadership. Andrew Brindle and Christina Chin’s tan-rengas explore society’s injustices and contradictions.

Ivan Pozzoni’s poetry declares his speaker’s independence of mind as an artist and offers critiques of government funds’ being taken from ordinary taxpayers to bail out large banks. Bill Tope’s short story celebrates the power of understanding and empathy for people at all social levels. Poet Eva Petropoulou Lianou interviews poet Til Kumari Sharma about the importance of gender equality, humanity and empathy, and living with solid morals. Til Kumari Sharma reviews Brenda Mohammed’s poetry collection Break the Silence, about ending drug addiction, domestic violence, and human trafficking. Nordona Norqulova describes strategies world governments use to combat terrorism. Til Kumari Sharma also expresses her hope for a world where women, children, and everyone is treated with respect.

Patrick Sweeney’s one-line senryus decenter the author as head of the universe. Mark Young contributes a fresh set of altered geographies. Baskin Cooper describes encounters slightly mysterious and askance. Christopher Bernard describes the frenzied, ghostly glamour of Cal Performances’ recent production of Red Carpet.

Brian Barbeito reflects on the wonder and spiritual curiosity he finds in natural landscapes. Su Yun’s collection of poetry from Chinese elementary school students reflects care for and admiration of the natural world and also a sense of whimsy and curiosity. Stephen Jarrell Williams’ short poems depict an escape from overcrowded cities back into nature. Vaxabdjonova Zarnigor discusses the chemical composition of chia seeds and their nutritional value. Nidia Garcia celebrates the natural environment and urges people to plant trees. Madina Abdisalomova reminds us that environmental care and stewardship is everyone’s responsibility.

Mahbub Alam extols the beauty of morning and nature in his Bangladeshi home. Jonathan Butcher’s poetry explores the different rooms in which we make our lives and the stories they could tell about us. J.T. Whitehead shows how external cleaning can parallel interior personal development. Srijani Dutta discusses her personal spiritual journey in prayer to the divine of at least a few faiths.

Alexandros Stamatoulakis announces his new novel The Lonely Warrior: In the Wings of the Condor, about a man discovering himself in the midst of a tumultuous modern environment. Chris Butler’s wry poetry explores long-lasting, but hopefully not implacable, truisms of the human condition. Ana Glendza speaks to the fear and insecurities that come with being human. Kavi Nielsen speaks to the experience of loneliness and rejection.

Noah Berlatsky satirizes faux-human tech support and our efforts to understand our whole world through technology. Timothee Bordenave outlines innovative ways to improve electricity transmission as Abdurofiyeva Taxmina Avazovna discusses treatments for cataracts.

Zarifaxon O’rinboyeva’s short story presents a woman overcoming poverty and grief to become a physician. Doug Hawley reflects on the ups and downs of summer jobs. Turdiyeva Guloyim’s poetic essay shares a complex emotional tapestry of childhood village memories. Rahmataliyeva Aidakhon highlights the importance of grasping folktales to understanding Uzbek heritage and culture. Madina Azamjon highlights the literary importance of Hamid Olimjon’s writing and how he drew on Uzbek folk culture for inspiration. Gulsanam Qurbonova extols the linguistic and cultural education she has received at her university. Ermatova Dilorom Bakhodirjonova explains the intertwined nature of Uzbek language and culture and the need to preserve both.

Mukhammadjonova Ugiloy celebrates her school and the sports and student leadership education she received there. Choriyeva Oynur outlines benefits of integrating technology into education. Abdirashidova Ozoda outlines the importance of encouraging and fostering creativity for preschool students. Nilufar Mo’ydinova discusses ways to encourage second language acquisition at an early age.

Anila Bukhari’s poetry celebrates the creative spirit surviving amid poverty and oppression. Taro Hokkyo’s prose poem details his protagonist’s escape from emotional and spiritual darkness to rise to the heights of creativity. Alan Catlin’s barman odyssey explores the roots of creative inspiration.

Emran Emon speaks to the recent Nobel Prize award for world literature and the value of writing. Abdusalimova Zukhraxon outlines strategies for teaching the Uzbek language to foreign students. Abdusaidova Jasmina Quvondiqovna shares some of her art and expresses her pride in her native Uzbekistan. Jumanazarova Munojot Elmurod qizi suggests ways to help young children learn to tell time. Qurbonova Madinaxon discusses the importance of games and play in children’s education. Hayotkhon Shermatova outlines issues with Uzbekistan’s educational system and how to address them. Azamova Kumushoy illustrates the importance of teaching language students how to analyze literary texts.

Duane Vorhees revels in erotic sensuality and the learnedness of ancient history. Perwaiz Shaharyar’s poem, translated to English and Italian by Maria Miraglia, celebrates the beauty of the positive aspects of many cultures’ concept of the feminine.

Ismoilova Gulmira celebrates the strength, thoughtfulness, creativity and resilience of Uzbek girls and young women. Abduqahhorova Gulhayo’s poem takes joy in the grace and kindness of young Uzbek girls. Svetlana Rostova finds beauty in everything, even ugliness, loss, and death.

Graciela Noemi Villaverde praises the creative insight of her dance teacher. Saparov Akbar outlines his personal quests and passions and his desire to educate himself and elevate his life. Mesfakus Salahin’s poetry celebrates the artistic inspiration that can come from romantic love.

J.J. Campbell details his middle-aged, disillusioned quest for love or maybe just a little break from reality. Donia Sahib speaks to spiritual and earthly love. Teresa Nocetti’s poem urges a loved one to invite her into their life. Eva Petropoulou Lianou shares a tale of lovers in search for one another.

Graciela Irene Rossetti’s poetry revels in tender gentleness. Mirta Liliana Ramirez expresses the pain of being shamed for who she is. Rezauddin Stalin speaks to partings and farewells. Umida Hamroyeva expresses her love and longing for a departed person.

Ahmed Miqdad speaks of the forgotten sufferings of ordinary people in Gaza. Fiza Amir’s poetry evokes the many personal losses and griefs of wartime. Jacques Fleury reviews Joy Behar’s play My First Ex-Husband, which explores marital and relationship issues in a way that is relatable for many people, married or single.

Mykyta Ryzhykh presents a protagonist who explores alternatives and then revels in his ordinary humanity. H. Mar. shares the joy of day-to-day human companionship.

We hope this issue provides artistic, emotional, and intellectual companionship to you as you peruse the various contributions.

DONNA, OLTRE L’INDICAZIONE DEL CORPO

Occhi come lago/ Labbra scarlatte come corallo/ Capelli ricci e sinuosi

Attragono in tutte le quattro direzioni

Questi sono labirinti

Il viso e il fascino fisico sono delle tende, in vero

Un’arma per tenerti lontano dalla dimora desiderata

Una vera donna vive altrove

Oltre l’indicazione del suo corpo

Seduta accovacciata come una reclusa

Proprio come una cosa astratta

Come un sogno di nuvole bianche di neve

A volte, simile alla notte  senza la luna

Fulmini dormienti, pieni della loro potenza

È necessaria una meditazione estremamente dura

Per aprire gli strati più profondi del suo cuore,

L’amore è considerato la vera perla di una donna

Questo può essere scoperto procedendo oltre il suo corpo

Altrimenti, nulla giace nel vortice del corpo 

L’uomo vuole sopraffare

Il corpo urlante di una donna

Ma il corpo è una duna di sabbia/ una fiera di desideri

C’è solo miraggio e poi miraggio

La donna è solita nascondersi, 

Da qualche parte nel suo io interiore,

invece di essere trovata nel suo corpo manifesto

che è come il centro epico di un vulcano attivo

un uomo per tutta la sua vita

corre sempre dietro a volti affascinanti

come quegli uomini idioti

che sulla superficie dell’acqua

spesso fissano le onde che s’immergono e galleggiano

con i loro occhi curiosi

giocano tutto il giorno con le conchiglie  delle spiagge

forse non sanno

che le vere perle si trovano inutilmente

nelle profondità di un mare,

dove il respiro non sostiene molto i subacquei

per raggiungere perle così sconosciute nelle profondità del mare

bisogna aspettare che le valve della conchiglia si aprano

per arrivare all’essenza originale di una donna

dovrai alzare la cortina del volto ingannevole

dovrai scendere

nella stanza nascosta del suo cuore

dovrai bussare e bussare ancora

alla finestra ermeticamente chiusa della sua anima

una donna non è un  un oggetto di lusso

non una merce di compra-vendita

Nemmeno un corpo fatto solo di carne e ossa

Il vero nome di una donna è ——

Amore, amore e solo amore!

Translation in Italian by the esteemed poetess from Italy Hon’ble Maria Miraglia 

Original poem in English by Dr. Perwaiz Shaharyar, Editor, NCERT, New Delhi, India 

WOMAN, BEYOND THE INDEX OF BODY

Lake like eyes/ Scarlet coral-like lips/ Curly-curvy hairs

Attraction all four directions

These are mazes 

Face and physical charms are curtains, indeed

A weapon to keep off you from the desired abode

A true woman lives in somewhere else

Beyond the index of her body

Sitting crouch like a recluse 

Just like an abstract thing

Like a dream of snow-white clouds

Sometimes, similar to the moonless dark night

Dormant lightning, full of its potency

Extremely tough meditation is needed

To open her inner layers of heart,

Love is considered to be the genuine pearl of a woman

This can be discovered by proceeding beyond her body

Otherwise, nothing lies in the whirlpool of body

Man wants to overpower

The screaming body of a woman

But the body is a dune of sands/ a fair of desires

There is only mirage and mirage

Women used to be hidden, 

Somewhere in her inner self,

Instead of, being found in her apparent body

Which is like an epic center of a live volcano

A man in his entire life

Used to run after fascinating faces

Like those idiot men

Who is on the surface of the water 

Often, stare at diving and floating waves 

With their curious eyes

Use to play, the whole day, with shells lying on beaches

Perhaps, they do not know 

That the true pearls are senselessly lying 

In the depth of a sea, 

Where the breathes not much support the divers 

To achieve such unknown pearls in the deep sea

Needed to wait till the lips of the shell get opened 

To get the original element of a woman

You will have to raise the curtain of deceitful face

You will have to step down 

Into the concealed room of her heart

You will have to knock and knock again 

At the tightly closed window of her soul

A woman is not a thing of luxury

Not a commodity of marketing

Not even a body of only bone and flesh

The true name of a woman is —— 

Love, love, and only love! 

The Barren Lands Of My Heart

She sat on a greenish boulder beside a lake beneath a maple tree. Her soft little hands were trembling with the weight of the letter she was holding, a letter of goodbye from someone who once used to sit next to her on this same boulder. They used to compete on who could throw rocks farthest into the lake. In her mind, she was lost in a typhoon on a wrecked ship with no signs of shore.” Tears kept running down her eyes from her cheeks to her chin, later turning into white shiny pearls dropping  on the letter, blurring the words:

“My love, you are the sole beacon of fire, Fervor of my life, Elixir of my soul’s Obscurity. I forget how to breathe in your absence, I’m just a body whose soul is entrapped within yours. Each night I spend in this dugout staring at the stars, the brightest of them reminds me of you. The cold dazzling wind in my ear whispers your name. I close my eyes and see you in my arms, as if Vega itself has landed on Earth. Sometimes fire shells land near my dugout. Every day feels as if it’s going to be my last. It does not unnerve me, for love of my soil steels my heart.”

“It ignites a fire of passion in me, laying down my life for my country, so that I can honor the oath to which this uniform bound me. And the thoughts of me returning to you bloom a garden of daisies in the barren lands of my heart. If death finds me,  when we are apart, I promise you to accompany you as a sheltering maple tree beside the lake where we sit, play and laugh. As a full moon brightening your darkness, as night jasmine blossoming a fragrance around you, as the rainbow that comes after rain. As the spring that comes after the autumn, and as a melody of love that adds rhythm to your a capella. If Death takes me away from you, I shall return to you as my letters of love to you, and if my corpse is placed in front of you, just know I’m standing right beside you, grasping your shoulder, holding you close to me, and like a brave lady, accept my keepsakes of valor with a smile.”

Amidst the typhoon on the wrecked ship, she was moving towards shore, but suddenly someone called her name. The shore disappeared, she began to drown. She screamed, struggled to reach the surface, but it was no help. She fell deeper and deeper, but it wasn’t merely a physical ocean, it was the oceans of her sorrow,  which engulfed her and her world, bit by bit.

“Amber, Amber! The ambulance is here!” said her childhood friend Anne. Anne paused, looking at the ambulance. “He kept his word. He came back.”

Fiza Amir is an emerging writer, poet, and medical student from Pakistan. Her work explores the intersection of empathy, memory, and the human condition. She has been published in Fevers of the Mind and Pandemonium Journal.

WINGLESS ANGEL

I was born in a kingdom with underground passages. The king was a tyrant and the queen a woman made up of lies. Poverty, lowliness, and humiliation. I was raised like a guinea pig for experiments. I was raised with the seed of a soul. I have wanted wings since I was a child.

Since I was a child, I wished to fly away from the harshness and darkness of this life. An old man once said to me: “I want to fly. Nothing is certain in this world, but whoever denies heaven will be denied by heaven. I believed it.

I began to have a will to the sun. I knew that even in the land of underground passageways, we are made up of the power of the heavens and the earth. It is not a flight to the top. Rather, we fly to the bottom. To the very depths of humanity.

The ugliness of human beings, their meanness toward the upper class and their pride toward the lower class, became my strength. Wingless flight. I descended to the bottom of the underground passage. There, the living had no purpose, and their souls were as good as dead. Here it became clear to me for the first time that I was an angel without wings.

I planted the seeds of my soul in them without reserve. The will to the sun. With their last strength, they ran up the underground passageway and escaped to the earth. To a land without a tyrannical king and a false queen.

Burnt by the sun and with blinded eyes, they ran up to a high cliff. Then, arms outstretched, they soared toward the sun, one after the other, light and full of happiness.

The Lonely Warrior: In the Wings of the Condor, the new novel by Alexandros Stamatoulakis, has been released by Adrahti Publications. This is the second novel in the saga of the Lonely Warrior, Alex Kosmatos. (In the first novel, Alex turns from a young kid, scared and isolated, into a winner of life in the hands of Akira, a descendant of the Samurai).

In the luminous city of New York, the Lonely Warrior continues his initiation in the high Art of Living after having infiltrated the colorful world of advertising, under the guidance of his boss, Peter Drakos, and Laura the beautiful director. At his side is Akira, the incomparable mentor.

The love of his life, Sogia Aguile, is stressed out at work in the women’s magazine of the bossy and perfectionist Maggy Smith. Sofia’s grandfather, Don Giovanni, is the target of lethal threats.

At the same time, in the shadow of the defeat in Vietnam and the big economic interests, a conspiracy is brewing.

But then, a shocking event sends Alex away to Peru, where he encounters the samans of the Andes and meets his spirit animal, the condor.

The footnotes in the final section of the book constitute a valuable guide to survival and everyday life.

A Failed Prediction 

There always seemed a brightened,
yet greying hue to this room,
as your feet danced in a much
more sturdy rhythm than mine,
the bricked-up fireplace having
an easier time breathing than me.

As we clumsily entwine here,
we are blissfully distanced
from changes that are well
overdue, and which time 
had far more dictation over
than we ever could.

Now only the chores and broken 
bookshelves remain; the contents 
of the draws and cupboards 
unrecognisable, and after 
just a two-day absence, 
we now become separated shadows.

The Hotel

I attempt to track a pulse 

from these walls, the assumption

that history is productive enough

(or mischievous) to leave a mark,

if only for the sake of confusion. 

I count the screws missing 

from each door hinge, to help 

juggle time until contentment

and the weak aura developed 

by my presence in unknown places

are delivered via a reluctant room service.

A finger dragged through dust

creates a runway, wide enough

to hide the yet to be cleaned towels

and shadows cast from bad bedside

lamps, and still leave space for

flattened pillows, which constantly 

threaten to withdraw rest.

The reception bar, almost static

with service, and  the glasses stained

just enough to prevent unnecessary

consumption. The carpets slowly

expose past footprints of grease,

to ensure I remain for at least another

night at least. 

Second Home

The same cramped room,
which created a shell around
this lack of warmth, 

a second home where the elders
were in celebration of everything
but ourselves.

The pencil marks on the wall
as you tracked our height, 
which formed like a rusted ladder,
still remain etched well into my 30’s;
my bones now stretched twice the size. 

In that armchair, a less than elegant
throne; you ensured this shelter
never would never crack, as we are finally
sent home, our usual refuge,
which at least for the next few days,
will seem slightly incomplete.

Jonathan Butcher has had poems appear in various print and online publications, including The Morning Star, Mad Swirl, Drunk Monkeys, Unlikely Stories Mark V, The Abyss, and others. His fourth chapbook, Turpentine, was published by Alien Buddha Press. He is also the editor of online poetry journal Fixator Press.